


Repressed Memories: Meatloaf

by LittleSpider



Series: Repressed Memories [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Angst, F/M, Repressed Memories, Unrequited Love, spousal abuse, spousal betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1535096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpider/pseuds/LittleSpider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repressed Memory AU:</p><p>Betty and Glenn have a 'happy marriage' but when her father comes over for his weekly meatloaf meal with the couple, she questions exactly how 'happy' she is.</p><p>(based on a tumblr rp)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repressed Memories: Meatloaf

Betty opened the oven door as she heard another hoot of laughter from the dining room. Her father and Glenn were on their second whiskey and it was showing.

Putting the meatloaf on the wire cooling rack, she pulled off the oven mitts and put them on the counter before slicing it into near perfect slices.

Glenn got annoyed when the slices were all shapes and sizes.

“Betty!”

Betty near jumped and the knife clattered to the counter.

“Are you mincing the beef yourself??” her father called and laughed into a hacking cough.

“Its nearly done, daddy!” she called back and made for the dinner plates that were stacked neatly next to the counter.

Moving the slices onto the plates, she ensured they were fanned just so and placed them on the hostess trolley.

She walked slowly through to dining room, pushing the polished chrome trolley with plates, the gravy boat, the bowls of vegetable and placed them neatly on the table, in the center before serving her father first, her husband second, and herself last.

Just as she was about to sit down.

Glenn coughed.

She automatically looked up.

“…Betty. Apron.” he responded.

Betty looked down and saw the apron around her waist.

“Sorry.”

She got up and walked to the kitchen to put it into the laundry basket before heading back through.

Her father was already helping himself to vegetables as Glenn draped a napkin over his lap.

“This sure is a fine spread, Betty. Your mother used to cook meals like this. Huge, great big meals that could knock you out for hours. And Thanksgiving…I’d sleep for 6 hours straight!” he smiled, piling up the mash.

She smiled and nodded, her hands neatly in her lap.

“…That said, never imagined you as a housewife.” he continued. “Not that i’m complaining. It’s a fulfilling role. Nurturing your husband, keeping a good home, learning some good, solid skills, and raising kids.” he put the bowl down and turned to Glenn. “That said, when are you gonna make me a grandpa?!” he joked before laughing.

Glenn smiled politely. Ever on his best behavior around Thaddeus ‘Thunderbolt’ Ross.

“We’re doing all we can sir, if you pardon the insinuation.”

Her father was too merry to take offense and laughed.

“But I’m sure…” Glenn continued, his hand extending to Betty’s section of the table, expecting her to take his hand. “…it’ll happen when it happens. God willing.”

Betty joined her hand with his and fixed a frail smile on her face.

“Sure would be great to have a bunch of grand-kids running around the base.” Ross continued as Glenn retracted his hand and started to fill his own plate.

Betty looked at her own plate and realized she had never felt less hungry. In fact, she felt a little nauseated.

“How are things up there?” Glenn asked, his forking hovering near his mouth..

Her father chewed his meatloaf and nodded.

“Busy.” he replied simply and raised his grey, bushy eyebrows, his eyes flicking to Betty briefly.

Glenn nodded and carried on eating.

Betty knew that her father wouldn’t continue in her presence. Not about this. It was about Bruce.

About ‘The Hulk’.

“…Are you feeling alright, darling?” Glenn asked softly.

Betty looked up at Glenn, her fork prodding her meatloaf.

“Hmm?”

“You’ve gone a bit red. Are you feeling unwell?” Glenn continued.

“…Fine.” she lied, touching her cheek. “Probably the weather.”

Glenn nodded and carried on eating, looking to her father.

“We had SHIELD sniffing around yesterday. Some stiff in a business suit called Sitwell wanted to check our records…” he continued.

Her father scoffed and shook his head.

“Time was the FBI, CIA—whatever…” he muttered scathingly, flicking his fork dismissively. “…you’d give them your stats, they’d scuttle back off to DC and that’d be the end. They give any chump a badge and a gun and they think they’re some kind of…office superhero.”

Glenn laughed and put his fork down, laughing a little too hard at a feeble joke.

Betty forced a smile to keep the peace and put a few bites of meatloaf in her mouth.

“They were asking about the flight suits. I think Stark had some input.”

Her father’s glass hit the white cotton table cloth clumsily.

“That trust fund ass hole?” her father snapped.

Her father was still very sore over what Stark had done to ‘his’ bar.

“You know he’s gotta stick his nose in…” Glenn nodded. “Stark’s SHIELD’s golden goose, after he saved the world in New York…”

Betty looked down at her left hand and felt the coldness of her wedding ring as her skin around it grew flushed.

They were talking about New York. After New York, her father had petitioned his superiors to lead a strike against the Hulk for being a threat to civilians, they had shot him down, saying it wasn’t their problem anymore. He was still sore about it.

Bruce was safe. She knew he’d be safe…

But gone.

“…God-damn glory seeking asshole. Got everything handed to him on a plate.”

Betty looked up.

“Stark inherited Stark Industries when his parents died in that horrible car crash.” she began. “…I wouldn’t say that it was handed to him on a plate, daddy.”

Glenn smiled at Betty.

“Betty, these things are…complicated to understand, and Stark has…a reputation.”

Betty bit the inside of her lip.

She didn’t want to cause any kind of scene here.

Instead she looked at her slightly disturbed plate and let the men fall back into their conversation.

How had it come to this?

A few years ago she had been heading up projects that bore presidential signatures, working with the top names in the business, taking responsibility for top level programs…

Now she was serving meatloaf and being told not to worry about ‘complicated’ things…

She pushed her plate away and stood up.

“May I be excused?”

“What is it Betty?” Glenn asked.

“I’m feeling a little bit sick.” she replied, nodding sympathetically to her father.

“Awh…” he began, standing up and leaning over the table to sloppily kiss her cheek, his breath reeking of whiskey.

“It’s fine, Glenn and I will tidy on up. Go rest…who knows! You could have a little grandson in there!”

Betty smiled as Glenn gave a laugh.

“Its possible…”

Betty slid out from behind the table and made for the stairs.

“Betty!”

Betty looked behind her.

Glenn was stood up.

“…Remember to take your vitamins.”

Betty nodded.

“Good night Glenn.”

She climbed the stairs and headed into their room and began the nightly ritual of removing the decorative pillows from the bed, peeling down the eiderdown and sitting on the bed.

She moved to the window and looked behind her at the door, listening.

Downstairs, she heard her father’s hacking cough laugh. She knelt down on the floor next to the window, pulled up the immaculate rug and unloosened the floorboard below.

She reached into the dark hollow to find the small shoe box she kept her meds in and popping a small, tea colored pill into her hand, swallowed it dry.

Putting the lid back on the box, she replaced it carefully and made a mental reminder to remember to call her clinic and get them on repeat prescription. She had four more pills, then a seven day break…Glenn would realize that ‘it’ hadn’t happened again.

Make some passive aggressive comment about her not being pregnant, and then she’d start again…

Replacing the floorboard, the rug and standing up, he walked back to the window and sat on the ledge, looking out into the street.

The perfectly parked cars. The neat trimmed grass. The perfectly white picket-fences and let her mind go beyond them, into the city of DC, where things were just a little more…chaotic.


End file.
